Bloody Conquest
by Sir Heroden
Summary: I am known in history books as Andrew the Bloodthirsty, winner of the first Hunger Games of Panem by violent conquest. My tale is one tinged with loss, betrayal and murder. But I write this story in the hope that future generations can use this piece to understand the power of the human desire to survive and the true cost of victory.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES SERIES. **

**Warning: This story contains some violence, but I will try to keep such scenes to a minimum. After all, this is a story intended to trigger the rusty gears of the reader's mind, instead of shocking them with murder. **

O#O

**Prologue:**

My name is Andrew Thain.

When I was fifteen, I became the winner of the first Hunger Games by luck and my own bloody deeds.

For the truth, I had never completely believed that I would come out of that arena until the last few minutes. It was only a certainty when my fellow tribute's blood dripped from my hands. It was only true when his canon rang out in the silence that followed.

But I was naïve then, and it is only later, when my nightmares draw me back to the place that I won my crown of murder, that I truly felt the power of the desire to survive.

To this day, I do not know what I became in that arena- a man or a monster.

All I know is that I wanted to live, to keep my pathetic excuse for a heart warm and beating. And I did.

Was it selfish? My family do not seem to think so. Yet when my sobbing mother pulled me into her arms I could not bear to look upon her face. I was a killer and she was a woman that had a soul as pure as anything I'd ever known. I didn't deserve her love, and I certainly didn't want to mar her by placing my hands anywhere near her skin.

Sometimes, when the light of day has long gone, the faces of the ones that lost their breath to me surface from the hell of my mind. They curse me, and I can only curse the Capitol and Fate itself.

Dear reader, I write this story not to justify my terrible acts, but to show you the truth. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I do not want to go down in history as nothing but a glorified murderer, but I want the world to know that I did the best I could in the poor circumstances that were apparent at the time.

I want you to know that anyone would have done the same in my position.

O#O

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading and I do hope that you will follow this story. It may promote some deeper meaning- who knows? I will try to update as soon as I can, but no promises until I finish my other story in progress. **


	2. The Reaping

**All reviews and favourites will be much appreciated. I will reply to all reviews in the following chapter. Check on my profile for more information about when I will update. **

** O#O**

**Reaping**

My home is District 7 and I was nothing more than the humble son of a lumberjack and his wife. I have two brothers, one older and one younger.

People used to say that my father was lucky, not just because he had taken to wife a woman desired by many, but because he had three sons. Boys had long been prized over girls in a labour based district such as ours.

When asked many years later what I thought of my parents, I would fondly recall the way that my mother used to ran her hand through my hair. She was a petite woman, but had determination beyond anyone I'd ever meet. She spoke in a soft voice, but I had seen her shame large men easily. I have seen her do a lot of amazing things and admired her for it.

My father, on the other hand, was the opposite. I remember him as a tall man that walked with a limp- a memoir of the rebellion. I remember him as good woodsman, but in his spare time nothing more a drunk, a liar and a sorry excuse of a father.

My fate was his fault and everyone knew it.

The Hunger Games were created after a failed revolution by the districts on the Capitol. It was a war brought blindly into our family by my father, but one that I would have to pay dearly for.

When the weary rebels of our district returned, they were held at gunpoint and given two choices- be killed on the spot, or have their children's' names placed a hundred times into the Hunger Games draw that year.

My father chose the latter.

So on that fateful day when I stood with all the other fifteen year old boys, and felt the same horror as the Capitol escort told us the rules (or the lack of rules) of the Hunger Games, I felt a heavy, impending doom wash over me. There was a whole lot more chance of me dying than most of them.

That morning, mother had made sure that my brothers and I dressed as neatly as possible. She said it was because cleanliness is next to godliness- a sign of her love. But I could tell it was because she knew that it could be one of the last times she ever saw one of her children.

A loud siren wailed and we were taken to the town centre, now roughly transformed into a stage. There were no chairs, so it was obvious that we were supposed to stand. Men in white uniform- peacekeepers (what a joke), herded us into age groups, barking at and threatening those that refused to obey.

There were a lot more boys in our district and so some of the older boys had to be moved to the back of the girls section. We fifteen year olds were way at the back and we couldn't hear what was being said on stage. However, a huge screen was scrolling the key points of which ever speech was being given and we were grateful for it.

About twenty or so metres in front of me I could see my younger brother Simon's mop of brown hair and a sudden surge of protectiveness overwhelmed me. If one of us had to be chosen, I hoped with all my heart that it would be me. In a selfish kind of way I hoped my older brother thought the same.

Our 'escort' was a tiny Capitol woman, who dressed in the most bizarre fashion I'd ever seen, with a white powdered face and a ridiculous pink wig. She was a sight standing next to our mayor, a large serious man that dressed in black for the solemn occasion. The escort (I didn't know her name then) reached into a large sphere containing the female names and produced a single slip of paper with a grand flourish. She sounded excited as she pronounced the girl's doom.

I didn't really blame her though. She wasn't the one about to face death. From the way she'd introduced the Games, it was obvious that it was nothing more than an exciting entertainment to the Capitol citizens.

Due to the nerve-racking pounding inside my head I missed the called name and it wasn't until loud whispering started nearby that I caught her name. Carita Oatis.

It was the first time I heard of her. My first impression of Carita was admiration. There was a steely courage in the way she held herself as she pushed past out of the crowd of trembling girls that I knew most people wouldn't be able to muster at such a time. Despite being skinny, she towered over the Capitol woman and looked so determined that my heart went out to her. Her proud stance seemed to convey a message of rebellion, as if she was saying 'I have better things to do than to fight to death because the Capitol tells me to'.

Carita stood stiffly and stared up at the sky as the woman gave her an enthusiastic hug and shuffled awkwardly over to draw the male name when she received no response.

There was a sinking feeling in my heart and I started to say my name again and again in my fumbled mind. Somehow, I knew that it was what she was going to call.

But when her mouth moved to give life to the same sound that was being played over and over, I paused for a moment, unsure if it had been my imagination.

Presumably not, from the hard shove in the back someone gave me.

It is strange how the choosing of my name had suddenly made me an outcast amongst my peers. They backed away from me as if I had some terrible disease that I could pass on to them any second.

So I moved away, following the random twisting path that was opened before me. Before long I had arrived at the wide path that separated the genders. Two peacekeepers marched to a position behind me.

A sudden shout made me turn just as Simon launched himself at me.

"Andrew!" he grabbed on to the front of my shirt, "Don't go! Please don't!"

I knew that I had to protect him by keeping him away. What I was about to do was harsh, but it was going to make me look stronger. I knew that at that moment all the video cameras were trained on me.

I shoved his flailing body off mine and pushed him into the dirt, closing my heart to the tearstains that ran in torrents off his face. "Get away from me!" To make it even more dramatic, I spat on the ground, "This is my chance! Don't ruin it!"

The two guards behind me had started at my brother's appearance, but now deeming the sobbing boy in the ground to be no danger, placed firm hands on my back and steered me towards the stage.

The Capitol woman patted my shoulder as I passed, "Thirsty for fame, are we?" She placed her hand on my shoulder and wrapped me in a crowd of perfume.

I stopped next to Carita and looked out over the crowd. My mother was crying, burying her face into a handkerchief. Father looked me in the eye, his mouth set into a straight line, revealing nothing- no sadness, no regret at what he had caused. My eyes scanned the crowd again. My older brother caught my eyes for a flitting second as the Capitol escort called one last time for volunteers. Then he looked down and refused to meet my eyes.

Anger and betrayal were unpleasant emotions, and a mix of both was even more unpleasant. My friends from school, my brother, and all the normally proud and boastful older boys of our District were silent.

That was the instant I decided to close my heart to the pathetic emotion I knew to be love. The only sensation left to me was the gradually warming sun and the comfort its rays gave me.

I closed my eyes.

The Capitol woman smiled into a sea of stony faces, "Ladies and gentlemen! I am proud to present to you- Carita Oatis and Andrew Thain, the District 7 tributes of the first Hunger Games!"

The camera set nearby turned to us and I watched as our faces were displayed on the huge screen and broadcasted across the whole of Panem. It was at that moment that I knew the Game had really begun.

**O#O**


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